


Speechless

by LindsayBay



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Romance, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindsayBay/pseuds/LindsayBay
Summary: Merle Dixon rescues a mysterious, silent woman and brings her to Woodbury. Romance, sex, angst, drama. There is some (non-sexual) disturbing stuff--this is the Walking Dead universe, after all. It's AU because no one from Rick's group shows up.





	Speechless

Merle went still when he heard the faint crunch of leaves. It could be a walker or it could be dinner. Slowly, he crept toward a thick-trunked live oak. The sound came again, a little closer this time. Merle peered around the tree and the corners of his mouth went down. Another damn biter. He raised his rifle and took aim at its forehead. Then he remembered: biters don’t bleed.

He walked slowly from behind the tree, rifle pointing at the sky. “Hey.”

The unclothed woman stared at him wordlessly. She was so thin, every rib visible, her hip-bones nearly breaking through her skin. Scabs encrusted her wrists and ankles, and she had scratches all over her legs. She had two gnarly-looking scars on one leg; they were quite clearly from human bites. She carried a scalpel in her hand. “Hey,” Merle repeated.

The woman’s eyes went wide and she brought the scalpel to her throat, pressing hard enough to draw a trickle of blood.

Merle dropped the rifle and spread his arms out. “I’m not gonna hurt ya, I promise.” He pulled off his khaki button-down shirt and balled it up. “Here. So you can cover up.” He threw it at her, then backed away. The woman darted forward, not taking her eyes off of Merle as she snatched the shirt. She turned around as she pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up, keeping the scalpel between her teeth.

“My name is Merle. I’m from a place called Woodbury. It’s a good place. I… I can tell ya was someplace bad.” The woman turned around, her eyes assessing. Her back was stiff and she was hugging herself. “Just follow me, okay? You’ll see.” His eyes went to her bleeding feet. He had to sit on the ground to take his boots and socks off; being one-handed had a way of turning the simplest tasks into challenges. “These’ll be too big, but ya can stuff some grass in ‘em. I can go barefoot for a bit. Done it enough when I was a kid.”

He got back up and walked away, pausing where she could still see him. The woman sat down and quickly pulled on his socks and boots. “You got a name?” he asked her. No reply. She got to her feet, moved toward Merle, stopped, swayed slightly. “Come on, then.” Merle led the way through the woods back to Woodbury, pausing often for her to catch up. After twenty minutes or so, she stopped, clutching at a tree branch to stay upright.

“Do ya need--” Merle moved toward her and she glared, raising the scalpel. “Okey-dokey. Ya don’t need my help, I guess.” He turned back toward Woodbury. “Don’t what happened to ya, but it ain’t gonna happen again, I swear. We’re gonna get ya fed and clean and bandaged up, and then ya can rest in a nice bed with fresh sheets. How’s that sound?”  _Thump_. He turned and saw the woman laying on the ground, her eyes rolled up in her head.

“Guess I’m gonna have to carry ya.” He unbuckled his prosthetic and stowed it in his pack. Picking her up was far too easy. A full-grown woman shouldn’t weigh so little. He noticed a tattoo of a stylized black cat on her arm; he recognized it from a French art poster an ex-girlfriend of his had once had up in his trailer. “I’m gonna call ya Cat till ya tell me what ya name is.”

Her arm flopped, and he saw another tattoo on the inside of her wrist, a series of letters and numbers that meant nothing to him.

……………..

You’re half-aware of being held in strong arms, of the feel of over-sized boots weighing your feet down, of a man’s raspy voice talking to you softly. Calling you ‘Cat’. It’s as good a name as any. At least it’s a name. It’s been a long time since you had one.

Eventually, you hear other voices. You’re carried inside and laid down on an examining table. You begin to panic, trying to get up, but one pair of hands easily holds you down. “It’s okay,” you hear a woman say, “you’re safe here.” Gentle hands remove the shirt and boots, cleanse your wounds, wrap them in gauze, dress you in a hospital gown. “I’m going to give you an IV now. You’re dehydrated.”

You turn your head and see the needle coming toward your hand. You open your mouth wide, but no sound comes out. You flail, knocking away the hand holding the needle. “Be good,” the woman chides gently. She nods at a man in scrubs and he grasps your arm. You begin to gasp in panic, your eyes wide and rolling. The needle moves toward you again and you break out on a sweat as you buck against the examining table. “Easy, now, easy.” The needle slips into your skin.  _Not again_ , you scream inside your head.

……………..

_“Miss, can you help me?” you hear as you get out of the pick-up. It’s a thirty-ish man, leaning on a Volvo and smiling sheepishly. He’s kind of cute._

_“Sure. What’s the problem?”_

_“I seem to be lost. I came here to find my mother, but she only just moved here, and she’s all alone, and I can’t seem to find Magnolia Street.”_

_You immediately feel sympathetic. These are frightening times, and you know how scared you would be if you couldn’t find your parents. “You’re not far off. Just turn left and--” Something clamps over your mouth. An arm wraps around your waist. There’s a white panel van parked behind your truck, blocking it in. The back doors open._

………….

You wake up thrashing, expecting to be held down by your wrists and ankles, but you find yourself unbound. Blinking at the light in the unfamiliar room, you take in the floral wallpaper, the gauzy curtains hanging in the windows, the framed inspirational quotes hanging on the walls. How long has it been since you were in an ordinary bedroom like this?

You see an IV line running into your left hand and you yank it out. “I was never too fond of them things, either.” You lift your head. The man--Merle--is sitting on a chair, holding a magazine. “ ‘Bout time ya woke up. Gotta say, I’m not really into  _Modern Bride_. Can’t see myself in any of them dresses.” He throws the magazine on the floor and gets up, walking to a side table that holds a pitcher and glass. “Thirsty?” You nod. He fills the glass with water. “Can ya sit up?” You push yourself up on your elbows, then hiss and scramble toward the opposite side of the bed when he leans over you. “I’m just gonna put the pillows behind ya. If I had any bad intentions, I woulda done ‘em when ya was sleepin’.” He arranges the pillows then stands back, raising his arms. “See? No bad intentions.” He hands you the glass of water and you gulp it down. Never has water tasted so delicious.

“So, what’s ya name, honey?” You look at him wordlessly. “Ya gotta have one. Everybody got a name.” He scratches at the scruff on his chin. “Not gonna say, huh? Guess I’m still gonna call ya Cat. That okay?” You stay silent and he shrugs. “Cat it is. So, are ya a hungry kitty?” You lick your parched lips. “Looks like a yes to me.” He opens the door and hollers, “Get this li’l gal some soup!”

………..

_In the van you were given a painful injection that put you to sleep. You wake up fuzzy-brained and parched. There’s an ache and a strange feeling of fullness in your nose and throat. You turn your head to look around and feel a strange tugging. There’s a man in a bed next to you, strapped down at the wrists, ankles, and waist. You jerk and find yourself similarly bound. Panic fills you and you scream._

_“Screaming won’t do you no good.” You turn your head in the other direction and see a woman strapped to another bed. “Nobody that can hear you is gonna help.”_

_“What’s happening? Why are we here?” you shout._

_“Your guess is as good as mine. We got tubes going into us and tubes going out of us. I think we might be strapped to these beds for a while.”_

…………..

You’re still skinny, but you’re much stronger. “What are your skills?” a woman with a clipboard asks. “Do you have any experience with weapons? Construction? Medical training?” She watches you closely. “What about cooking?” You nod. “Food preservation?” Nod. “Cooking for large groups?” Nod. “Butchery? Dressing game animals?’ Headshake. “Gardening?” Nod. “Gathering of wild-growing foods?” Nod. “Ah. Excellent. That’s one we’ve been needing.” She frowns down at the clipboard. “This is a long shot. Do you know how to cook with a wood-burning stove?” Her eyebrows shoot up when you nod. “Well, well, well. Merle brought us a prize.”

You’re led to a makeshift outdoor kitchen, a construction of raw lumber covered in canvas. The sides are rolled up, presumably to let out the hot air produced by several cast iron wood stoves, black behemoths scrounged from antique stores and historical mansions. You’re introduced to several women before being assigned to make enough biscuits to feed eighty people. “You’re going to get overheated in them jeans,” one woman remarks, “It gets awful hot in here.” You shrug. You prefer to keep your scars covered.

The women try to engage you in conversation but soon start to ignore you when they realize that you won’t speak. That’s fine. You’re occupied with your work. Mixing up a batch of dough, patting it into a rectangle and leaving it to rise while you begin another batch. Cutting the biscuit shapes with the neck of a floured drinking glass. Putting them in the oven and feeling your stomach rumble a little from the scent of their baking.

“Dixon, you know you’re not allowed to just take food whenever you want,” you hear one of the women huff.

“Ain’t gonna steal none of your possum fricassee. Just wanna see how the new girl’s settling in. Got an interest in her, bein’ as I’m the one saved her life.” You smile at Merle as he strolls over to you. “How ya doin’? These ladies treatin’ ya well?” You bob your head. He visited you several times while you were recovering, but for the past week he’s been too busy for you to see much of him. Mostly, you’ve been waving to him across the courtyard that your apartments share. Which is too bad, because you find him pleasing to look at.

“She’s a quiet one,” you hear.

“Too much yappin’ in this world anyway, doncha think, Cat?” He grins charmingly, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling. “Hell, I talk enough for the two of us and then some.”

“Why doesn’t she talk? What’s wrong with her?”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with her,” Merle barks. “She’ll speak when she’s good and ready.” You sneak a warm-from-the-oven biscuit into his hand. “Also, Cat, I’m wondering if ya’d like to go out foragin’ for food tomorrow. I’m gonna be the hunter and ya can be the gatherer.” You nod.  

You can’t help smiling to yourself after he leaves. After the shit you’ve been through, some private time with a handsome man seems well-deserved. “Don’t be getting ideas about that Merle Dixon,” the woman working next to you murmurs. “That man is trouble on legs.”

………..

_An elevator door opens and a woman in a white coat comes into the long, low-ceilinged room pushing a cart full of supplies. Her face set in grim lines, she dumps baby formula into the bags that drain into the nasogastric feeding tubes that you and all the other prisoners have running into your noses and down your throats. Then she dumps the urine from all the catheter bags. She listens to heartbeats, takes temperatures, makes notes. All this is done without her saying a word. The prisoners beg, plead, threaten, bribe._

_When the woman puts the cold stethoscope on your chest you start screaming at her, calling her every foul name you can think of. Her expression doesn’t change as she pinches up the skin on the inside of your elbow and twists it hard._

……………

As soon as you leave the barricades of Woodbury, you feel like you almost remember the woman you used to be before. You slide down in your seat and poke your bare feet out the truck’s passenger side window. Back in town, people seem to treat you only two ways. Either they pretend you’re not there or they talk to you like you’re five years old. Merle isn’t bothered by your silence. In fact, you suspect he likes it.

“There’s a bunch of mixtapes in the glove box,” Merle says. “None of it’s shit I’m into, but maybe you’ll like some.”

You dig among the cassettes. It’s mostly music from the sixties and seventies, the kind of stuff your parents like. Your eyes sting a little as you wonder what happened to them. You find one that’s all female singer-songwriters and pop it in. Joni Mitchell’s soprano comes from the truck’s speakers.

_I could drink a case of you darling and I would_

_Still be on my feet_

_Oh I would still be on my feet_

Your hair had been so matted that it had been shaved off while you were recovering. It’s grown just long enough to wave in the breeze. Riding in a truck on a balmy spring day, listening to a favorite song and feeling the wind in your hair, a handsome man at the wheel; it’s almost enough to make you forget the hell of the past months.

“Guess you’re a hippie chick, huh? That’s okay. I been with a couple. We can get along fine so long as we don’t talk politics.” Merle laughs. “Guess it don’t much matter anymore. Ain’t no more Democrats or Republicans. So, uh…” He gives you a mischievous look. “Ya one of them feminazis?” You shoot him a look and he hoots with laughter. “I got that from Rush Limbaugh. He was pretty funny sometimes, don’t ya think?” You shake your head and sigh loudly. “No? Well, if it makes ya feel better, he’s probably been eaten by now.”

The song changes. Minnie Riperton’s  _Loving You_. Merle starts singing along in a falsetto and you find yourself dissolving into helpless giggles. His voice cracks on the high ‘ahhhhhhh’ and your giggles turn to snorts. You can’t remember the last time you laughed this much.

The song changes again. “I kinda like this one,” Merle says.

_I feel the earth move under my feet_

_I feel the sky tumbling down_

_I feel my heart start to trembling_

_Whenever you're around_

He sings along in his grainy tenor, only pausing for a second when he hears your voice join his. The truck turns down a dirt road, going deep into the woods. The dirt road peters out, ending at a broken-down wooden fence with a hand-painted ‘no trespassing’ sign. “Gotta put your shoes on now, granola girl.”

You lace on a pair of Doc Martens that almost fit, then grab a burlap bag and a trowel. Merle has a hunting rifle that he carries pointed toward the ground and rolled tarps over one shoulder. You follow him, walking as softly as you can. You pause when you spot a bright orange fungus growing from a tree trunk. You know it as ‘chicken of the woods’. It the first thing to go into your sack. Next, you find some wild ginger. You see some familiar white flowers and dig up their roots. Merle pauses for you while you forage.

The two of you comes to a narrow trail that runs through two stone outcroppings. You can hear running water not too far away. Merle finds a downed tree and the two of you settle in to wait. The silence that you share with Merle reveals many things: the buzzing of insects, the songs of frogs, the sighing of the breeze through leaves. A bobcat trots past, headed to the creek for a drink. Two crows land on a branch not far from you, staring curiously and chattering to one another. Your knee falls lightly against Merle’s and you let it stay there.

Rustle rustle rustle. Merle stiffens and slowly raises his rifle. A buck with fresh antler buds is picking its way down the trail. Merle aims carefully and  _bam_! He drops the buck with one shot to the head. He jumps out of your hiding space. “Gotta work fast,” he tells you. “That shot’ll bring biters from all over.”

You were raised vegetarian and helping Merle cut up the deer is making you feel a little sick. But you understand that being fussy about what one eats is a luxury in times like these. The meat is bundled into the tarps, making two packs, and you get the smaller one to haul out.

Halfway to the truck, Merle throws a look back at you. “Ya smell that?” The breeze carries a distinctive sewer stench. You can faintly hear bubbling growls. There are several biters close by. You and Merle walk faster.

Two biters stumble directly into your path. You throw your package of venison at them as hard as you can, knocking them down. You pull your trowel from your belt and stab them both in the eye before they can get up. “Holy shit.” Merle is looking down at you, shaking his head. “Ya don’t even look scared. You are one bad-ass hippie chick.”

…………..

_“What the hell is that?” you hear someone say. There’s a feral, slavering noise coming from the elevator. The door opens. The room is filled with screams as one of the infected staggers out. Panicking, you thrash against your bonds. Two men step out behind the shambling horror, controlling it with two poles attached to a collar. The creature’s face is livid white except for its black lips, which pull back from yellowed teeth. It lurches, bile-like fluid dripping from its mouth._

_The men controlling it let it move to the closest prisoner. They use the poles to force its face down toward the prisoner’s ankle. It sinks its teeth in._

_The cacophony that erupts is deafening. Shrieks and bellows and sobs, cursing, beds rattling as people try to break free. And the snarling of the undead creature under it all, the sound of its frustration as it’s allowed to bite but not to feed. When you see the nurse following behind, cleaning and bandaging the bites inflicted on the lower legs of your fellow prisoners, you begin to laugh hysterically. You don’t stop when the creature’s stench fills your nose and mouth. You don’t even stop when its teeth penetrate your skin._

………..

When you get back from foraging, you and Merle sit out in the courtyard on Adirondack chairs, sharing a bottle of warm Budweiser. He talks some, about his brother and the way they grew up. Whenever anyone else walks through the courtyard, he goes silent.

After a while, he stands up and stretches. “Guess I need to wash the day’s dirt off. Wish we had hot water, though. Or somethin’ else to keep me warm.” He walks into his apartment, leaving his sliding glass door open. You sit for a few minutes, then follow. The bathroom door is open, the shower just starting. You hear Merle let out a little ‘oof’ as the unheated water hits him. You shed your clothes.

He grins when you pull the shower curtain aside and step into the tub. “Shit. This must be my lucky day,” he says, pulling you against him. The water isn’t freezing, but it’s cool enough to make Merle’s body seem hot by comparison. His hands go to your ass and you feel his dick start to swell. “Mmm. This is nice, but this water ain’t gettin’ no warmer.”

You grab the soap and washcloth and start washing him briskly. You slow down a bit when you get to his cock, liking the way it plumps up as you get it soapy. You stroke it, smiling up at him, and it gets rock hard in your hand. “Jesus,” he says softly, his eyes going heavy-lidded.

You hand the soap to him. He sudses up your breasts first and you start giggling. He’s spending far more time on them than needed, given that boobs really don’t tend to get that dirty. The soap slips from his hand and he cups one breast, lightly squeezing, then circling your nipple with his thumb.

“Can ya get that soap for me, darlin’?” he purrs. You turn your back to him and bend over. He pulls your hips to him and grinds against you playfully, making you squeal. You pass the soap back to him and he lathers you up between your legs, then drops the soap again. His right arm holds you around the waist while his left hand explores. “I got a feelin’ it ain’t just the soap got ya’ll slippery down there,” he husks into your ear. His erection twitches against your ass. “Maybe we should get rinsed off and take this to bed?”

Out of the shower, you dry each other off, kissing and licking as you go. You get down on your knees to towel off his feet, then you take his hard length into your mouth. You taste a bit of soap along with pre-cum. He growls appreciatively and rests his hand on your head as you bob up and down. Then you release him from your mouth, looking up at him as you hold his erection against your cheek.

“Get up here,” he orders. You obey. He lifts you and sets you on the sink, parting your knees and stepping between them, laying his mouth on yours. He grasps his cock and uses its head to tease you, running it up and down your slit. His kisses are hard, demanding, a little rough. They’re exactly what you want right now. The head of his erection rubbing against your sensitized clit is making you hotter, wetter. You grasp his buttocks and roll your hips, wanting him inside you now. He laughs against your lips. He slips just the tip of his cock inside you, then stops. You dig your nails into his ass impatiently and moan.

Merle lifts you off the sink, the movement causing you to sink down on his cock. You wrap your arms and legs around him as he carries you into the bedroom. When he drops you on the bed, your bodies come apart. You crawl to the middle of the bed, Merle right behind you. He tries to roll you under him, but you resist, making it clear you want him on his back.

You straddle his hips, watching his face as you start to ride him. It’s been so long since you’ve been with a man. You’d forgotten how good it can be, the way the world narrows down to just two people moving in the same rhythm. Merle’s face is heavy with desire, his gaze moving from your face to your bouncing breasts to the place where your bodies are joined. He puts his big hand on your thigh, placing his thumb where it can rub your clit with every thrust of your hips. “Come for me, babygirl,” he growls. And you do, your pussy clenching around him.

Before your orgasm fully fades away, he rolls you underneath him, propping himself up on his elbows and plowing you hard. You toss your head back and forth, whimpering as you climax again. He murmurs filthy things to you in that raspy voice of his, pulling out and shooting his seed onto your belly.

You both need a moment just to lay still and catch your breath. Merle looks down at you with a satisfied expression on his face. “That was exactly what I needed.” You smile back at him, knowing that he knows it was exactly what you needed, too.

…………..

_Time is like a rubber band, stretching and stretching and then SNAP. You’re so hot that you want to take your skin off, then you’re ice cold and your teeth are chattering. The nurse inserting an IV into your arm turns into your mother. “Momma, I want to go home!” Ice is packed around your body, making you shiver so hard that the bed rattles. Your joints feel like they’re filled with broken glass._

_You wake up out of the strange limbo with no idea how much time has passed. There’s a dull ache in your head and a taste of rot in your mouth. The nurse is there again, refilling your IV bag. “Where is everyone?” you croak. “Where did they go?” You receive no answer._

…………

You used to love dreaming. You kept a dream diary so you could remember the conversations you’d had with talking purple cats, and your trips to shopping malls the size of continents, and your drives down freeways that defied the laws of physics. Your good dreams were stolen from you.

You wake up from that long, concrete-walled room, with all the other beds empty. Merle is twitching in his sleep. He’s laying on his stomach and the light of the full moon through the window highlights the corrugations on his back. They hadn’t really registered during lovemaking; you were too distracted by lust. You remember the stories he’s told you about his father. He seemed to be skimming around the edges of something he wasn’t ready to talk about, and the marks on his skin give you a clue as to what was left out.

He jerks, one arm flying out. “Nuh. Nuh,” he groans. “Stop it.” You shake him gently. He comes awake with a gasp, eyes wild. He gapes at you for a long moment, then relaxes as he remembers. “Was I talkin’ in my sleep?” You nod. “Sorry, babe, Didn’t mean to wake ya up.”

You wrap yourself around him, around that beautiful, scarred body, and make shushing noises until he falls asleep again.

…………

_A man in a military uniform stands by your bed holding a clipboard. He makes a moue of distaste. “Why is she naked?”_

_“We have to limit how much we use the generator these days. We don’t have enough fuel for laundry.” The nurse tilts your wrist so he can see the numbers and letters tattooed there. Your skin makes a damp sound as it’s peeled off the plastic mattress cover. “We’re taking several vials of blood from her every day. We’ll probably take some biopsies, too. Get various tissue samples,” the nurse says._

_“What I’d really like to see is the brain,” the military man says._

_The nurse shakes her head. “Not until we find another subject that’s immune. Otherwise, we’d probably be killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.”_

_They’re interrupted by enraged screaming. A young woman bound with duct tape is dragged out of the elevator. As she’s frog-marched past you, she shouts, “What is this place? What are they going to do to us here?”_

_You don’t answer. You’ve learned there’s no point in talking._

……………

This is the sixth morning you’ve woken up in Merle’s bed. He’s spooning you and his morning wood is nudging your buttocks. He sleepily kisses your neck, lightly strokes your breasts. His hand moves down to your mound, cupping it and pressing in a slow rhythm. You make a small, kittenish sound of contentment as you stretch. His fingers delve inside, touching and teasing until you can feel your juices wetting the tops of your thighs. You lift one leg and he slides into you. It’s a slow ride. His fingers keep doing their magic, coaxing one long, gentle climax out of you, and another. “Ya regret movin’ in yet?” he asks teasingly as you shiver under his touch.

Afterwards, you dreamily take a shower, washing his semen from your lower back. Back in the bedroom, he’s sitting on the bed still naked. “Got somethin’ for ya from the library.” He hands you a thin book with a colorful cover.  _Sign Language: My First Hundred Words_. “Could come in handy. It don’t have some important stuff in it, though. But I guess ya know what I mean when I go like this.” He points at his dick and then at your mouth. You laugh and smack him lightly on the side of his head.

You head for the communal kitchen to start on breakfast. The other women talk about you as if you’re deaf as well as mute. “Of course, Merle Dixon would go for a woman who doesn’t talk back,” one of them says. You turn around, smile sweetly, and flip them all the bird.

After breakfast, you and Merle go out foraging again. The plan is to be away from Woodbury for a few days, looking for buildings that haven’t been stripped bare of usable things as well as hunting and gathering. There are a couple of sleeping bags in the truck, but no food. You and Merle plan on providing for yourselves.

That afternoon, you and Merle dine on squirrel and mushroom stew with a side of dandelion greens. Then you move down the road a bit, just in case the smell of your supper attracts biters. Merle finds a hidden dead end to park on and the two of you sleep in the cab.

In the morning, you’re back on the road by seven. You’re slouched down in your seat, listening to one of the mixtapes.

_We both know what memories can bring_

_They bring diamonds and rust_

Merle turns down a two-lane highway and you sit up abruptly. “What is it?” he asks. “Ya know this area?” You nod. After a couple of miles, you point at a dirt road. Merle turns, not even questioning. You direct him down another unpaved road, and there it is, barely visible through the weeds: a faded sign that says ‘Sunshine Farm -- New Age Communal Living’. Merle stops the truck. He rests his elbows on the wheel and looks at you, his forehead crinkled. “This where ya from?” You nod. “Ya wanna go there?” Nod. “Ya realize that ya might find some things ya wish ya hadn’t?” You just gaze steadily back at him. “Alrighty, then.”

Branches slap the slide of the truck; the narrow lane to the commune has become overgrown. Merle pulls up in front of the main house and you jump out of the truck before it’s fully come to a stop. Everything is covered by a layer of leaves and small branches, but, otherwise, it looks much the same as the last time you saw it. Except there is no smoke coming from the chimneys, no sounds of sawing and hammering coming from the woodshop. As you walk around the main house, you see that the raised vegetable beds have been overrun with weeds. A little further, you find the chicken coop with the door wide open, all its inhabitants gone. The beehives have tipped over.

Merle follows you, not saying a word until you get to the biffies. “Ya had shithouses? I don’t get it. I lived like this when I was a kid because we were dirt-eatin’ poor. Why the hell people choose this when they could have indoor plumbing?” You shoot him a look. “Guess that ain’t the most important thing right now, huh?” You can hear him muttering about hippies as you head for the back door of the house.

It isn’t locked. It never was. Inside, the hand-woven rugs and rustic furniture are dusty. You head immediately to the pantry off the kitchen. It’s fully stocked. Flour sealed in barrels, rows of pickled beets and stewed tomatoes, jars of honey, dried peppers hanging on strings. You open the hatch to the cellar. The fruit and root vegetables are withered, but the homemade wine is in perfect condition.

The entire commune is like that--intact, deserted. Merle is especially impressed with the woodshop with its fully-functional antique tools, nothing but things that don’t need gasoline or electricity. “This is gonna be one hell of a haul.” He pauses. “ ‘Less ya don’t want to tell no one. I understand if ya don’t want the place ya call home bein’ stripped for parts.”

You shrug and spread your arms. You were raised to be practical, to waste as little as possible. Leaving useful items to rot went against everything your parents and your extended commune family stood for.

You remember clearly the last time you saw them. Your father was arguing with your uncle Danno. “We don’t need guns,” Danno had insisted. “We believe in the principles of nonviolence, remember?”

“Yeah, well, the world’s changed,” your father had snapped.

“If you don’t stick to your principles when times get tough, they’re not really principles!”

Your mother had been watching the men anxiously, tugging at her frizzy curls. You’d hugged her. “Ma, it’s going to be okay, you’ll see.” You got into the old International pickup and headed for the strip-mall off the interstate, hoping to find some non-perishable food and lumber still available. And then you’d been snatched.

You lead Merle back toward the kitchen to show him the ancient cast-iron wood stove. You know it will take more than the two of you to move it, but you want to look at its familiar rusty-black bulk again. That’s when you see it--a note. ‘We’ve gone to the refugee camp in Atlanta,’ it says. You know what that means. You know that they’re most likely gone, burn to nothing but grease spots in a napalm firestorm.

Merle puts his arms around you. “It’s okay. Ya got me, baby. Ya got me.”

…………..

_You had thought that you would be spared being bitten again, but you aren’t. Another shambling horror is brought in, and it sinks its filthy teeth into everyone, including you. You don’t even get a fever. You lay there, completely lucid, listening to the others as they rant, as they sob, as they go into seizures, as they let out their death rattles. As they go silent and still and cold, and then start to move again._

_The nurse comes to take your temperature. Her silent, too-calm presence is what makes you snap. When she lowers the thermometer toward your mouth, you clamp your teeth on her hand,  chewing and shaking your head. You easily pierce her gloves, going right through her flesh. You don’t stop until you feel bone. You grind them between your jaws, then release, swallowing her flesh and blood._

_The next day, there’s a new nurse. He wears steel mesh filleting gloves that make him clumsy, and gaffers tape wound around his forearms. You never see the first nurse again._

…………….

You and Merle break into the watermelon wine. It’s the first alcohol you’ve had since the world went to shit and it goes to your head fast. You’re in the living room where you’ve spent so much of your life. Even with a layer of leaves, the solar panels on the roof provide enough juice to turn on the record player. You put on an album you remember your mother playing all the time, by Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks before they joined Fleetwood Mac.

_I turned around and the water was closing all around like a glove_

_Like the love that had finally, finally found me_

_Then I knew in the crystalline knowledge of you_

_Drove me through the mountains_

_Through the crystal like and clear water fountain_

_Drove me like a magnet_

_To the sea_

You hold your wine glass as you close your eyes and sway. Your mother had always greatly resembled Stevie Nicks, with her long curls, delicate face, and flowy shawls. Your father didn’t particularly resemble Lindsey Buckingham, but he had a rakish charm nonetheless. You had clung to the belief that they were still alive out there, somewhere, but you could no longer sustain that belief. They were gone, along with all the uncles and aunties that had doted on you. And the other children that you had grown up with, some who had stayed on the commune and some who had gone out into the cold outside world, they were likely gone, too, along with their children.

Tears leak from under your closed eyelids. “Hey,” Merle says, “hey.” He pulls you into his arms and holds you close, not caring that you spill sticky pink wine on him. He kisses you, his lips tasting sweet. You drop your glass and it shatters on the wood floor. You’re filled with a sudden fierceness, digging your fingernails into Merle’s back. “Ya need it rough right now?” he asks throatily. “I can give it to ya rough.” You answer him by pounding on his shoulders while you suck his tongue into your mouth.

After that, it’s a kaleidoscope of sensations and sights. Merle tearing your shirt off and leaving a trail of bites down your neck and stomach. The animalistic snarl on his face. Your hair yanked as he fucks you roughly from behind. Pulling him to you and fighting him at the same time. Coming so hard you shout out. Words. You say words. You forget them immediately. His cum hot on your stomach and breasts. The way he holds you afterward, his breath harsh and ragged.

Panting, you rest on top of him, loving the feel of skin on skin. Then you panic, jumping up, making Merle turn his body so you can see every inch of him. “What’s wrong, babygirl?” he asks. You say nothing. You just fall to your knees, weak with relief. In your carnal abandon, you did not bite him.

…………..

_The third time around, you aren’t bitten. Again, you have to listen to everyone around you die. Everyone except the ones that deserve to die. The nurse that dumps protein shakes into your feeding bag and drains you of blood. The doctor that biopsies you. The military man who lusts for your brain tissue._

_One day, the nurse comes down, saying nothing as usual. His face is drawn, pale, his eyes bloodshot. He unbuckles one of your wrists, his hands shaking. He leaves a scalpel next to your hand. The lights flicker as he steps into the elevator._

………………

The two of you sleep in your single bed, beneath the double wedding ring pattern quilt that your mother made you, bruised and scratched bodies snugged together. You’re awoken by the morning chorus of birds in the tree by your window. You press your face against Merle’s chest while he pets your hair. “We don’t have to tell no one about this place. It can be our secret,” he says softly. “ ‘Cause ya know the Governor’ll have us on it like vultures on road kill. Strip it down to nothin’.”

Merle kisses the marks he left on you the night before, all the way down to the juncture of your thighs. You stroke his close-cropped head, sighing as his tongue explores you, slowly but thoroughly. When he starts using his fingers too, you gasp, clutching at the bedclothes. He’s never content to have you come just once. You’re shaking and whimpering and then he’s mounting you, propped up on his elbows as he fucks you hard, the iron bedstead squeaking and creaking and banging into the wall. You wrap your legs around his hips, looking up into his face, not closing your eyes even when you come again.

………..

_You have to pull out all the things invading your body. The nasogastric tube, the catheter, the IV. The sight of your own legs makes you cry. They’re like matchsticks, all the muscle wasted away. Nevertheless, you force yourself to stand up and shuffle toward the elevator. It takes you up to a warren of labs and offices. You’ve been in the basement of a clinic the entire time._

_Bodies litter the terrazzo floors, but none of them are moving. You make your way past them to the atrium, to the double glass doors. The sunlight hurts your eyes. It takes nearly all your strength to push the door open._

………..

You and Merle spend nearly a week at the commune. It’s a nice change from the tense, gossipy, hothouse atmosphere of Woodbury. Sitting on the porch swing drinking cherry wine, making love in the sunshine, playing board games by candle light in the evening--it feels like a honeymoon. Merle goes out hunting in the early mornings, bringing back his kills for you to prepare.

“We should think about gettin’ back,” Merle says one evening over roast squirrel. “They’re gonna start thinkin’ somethin’ happened to us.” You don’t want to go back, but Merle insists that Woodbury is safer.

You take down the Sunshine Farms sign so no one will find it, board over the windows of the outbuildings, disconnect the inverter from the solar panels to prevent fire. Merle chooses some things from the woodshop, saws and hand drills and planes. You pack jars of your auntie Karen’s strawberry jam in milk crates and rags and roll out a barrel of flour. Merle carries up two deer carcasses that he had in the cellar. The truck is packed and it’s time to go. The honeymoon is over.

………..

_You still clutch the scalpel. You have no idea why you’re in the woods. A figure lurches toward you and you calmly stab it through the eye-socket. The walking dead hold no terror for you. You’re one of them._

…………

Summer rolls on, turning muggy and mosquito-infested. You and Merle manage to go back to the commune for a couple stays. You don’t want to go too often. The residents of Woodbury are a nosy and suspicious lot. You don’t want someone following you to Sunshine Farms. You value it too much, the time you spend there. Looking through old family photos, holding your mother’s shawls to your face to inhale her scent. Sharing the wine with Merle, the light-hearted fun of learning sign language together. Those hours on the porch swing listening to Merle reveal the truth of his life to you, the hardscrabble childhood, the wretched end to his military career, the addiction and petty crime and careless sex. After a few glasses of wine, he moves on to talking about making it right, starting all over with you. Making babies.

By mid-August, you can no longer bear having jeans on in the kitchen; it’s just too damned hot. You wear some of your mother’s long, flowy India cotton skirts. There are curious stares at the scars on your ankles.

One afternoon you’re headed back toward your apartment. “Excuse me. Cat?” You turn. Milton Mamet is hurrying to catch up with you. He’s still wearing a dress shirt and slacks, even in this unholy weather. He has huge sweat-rings under his arms and looks like he’s about to melt. “Could you please tell Merle that I need his assistance?”

You nod. You haven’t had much to do with Milton Mamet. You know he does experiments of some sort and so you avoid him.

His eyes move to your ankle. “Huh. Interesting.” He crouches down for a better look, then gets back up. “Every single tooth is visible in those marks. That’s not normally possible. If I didn’t know better, I would say you got those from a biter.” You start to feel light-headed. He takes your wrist and looks at the tattoo there. “You were a test subject of some sort, weren’t you? Could you come back to my--” You pull your arm back but he doesn’t let go. A beast rears up inside you. With a snarl, you sink your teeth into the hand that holds your arm.

Milton yelps and lets go. “You could have just said no!” you hear him say as you start to run.

Merle is there in your apartment, painstakingly tying his bootlaces. He looks up, taking in your wild eyes and ragged breathing. “What’s wrong, babe?” You touch your mouth and then your cheek, over and over again. The sign for ‘home’.

…………

_You hold the scalpel to your throat. The man’s eyes widen and his jaw sags. You’ve never seen so much pity in someone’s face before._

_“I’m not gonna hurt ya, I promise.”_

…………

You have to move Merle’s arm off of your waist to get out of bed. He whines in complaint, then turns over and starts to snore. You dress quickly, half-run down the stairs, then retrieve the backpack you filled while he was off on a morning hunt. There’s a deer trail that starts behind the outhouses. There’s enough moonlight for you to follow it. After taking a long, last look at Sunshine Farm, you walk silently, the way Merle taught you to. You carry a rifle over one shoulder; you’ve heard the howling of dog packs, animals that have reverted to a wolf-like state but without a fear of humans.

The deer trail ends at a creek, which you follow. All through the night, the morning, the early afternoon, late afternoon. When you come across a hunting shack, you crawl onto its narrow, mouse-gnawed cot, so tired you fall asleep immediately.

When you wake in the mid-morning, Merle is there, sitting on a frayed lawn chair. His jaw is gritted in anger but his eyes look sad. “Ya left me? Just like that? Did I mean nothin’ to ya? Did I?”

You sit up and shake your head vigorously.

“Then  _why_?”

Because you would rather die than be treated worse than an animal again. Because you can kill with a bite. Because you can’t express any of this to Merle, no matter how much you want to. Because you’re so afraid of anyone knowing what you are. Because you’re not sure you’re fully human anymore.

Merle jumps up out of the chair and gives it a hard kick. “Goddammit, just speak! Just once, fucking say something!” He leans one hand against a wall, facing away from you. His back heaves with emotion. In the silence, you hear the frogs singing in the creek, the hammering of a woodpecker, a cricket chirping in a corner of the shack. You get up, walk to him, put your arms around his waist. You rest your face against his back, not caring that he’s damp with sweat. “I ain’t goin’ back to Woodbury,” he says thickly. “I’m goin’ to the commune and I’m gonna stay there. If ya give a shit…” He shakes his head, then peels your arms off his midriff. He walks out of the shack without turning around.

You and Merle, just the two of you living at Sunshine Farm. Chickens in the coop, bees in the hives, the cellar full of apples and potatoes. Babies filling the handmade cribs in the nursery. The beast inside you, haunting all of it. You have to go on alone. It’s the only responsible choice.

You follow the creek as the sun shines directly overhead, dazzling on the water. A fox crosses your path and scurries away. A feral kitten freezes at the sight of you then scoots into a hollow log. A wind rises, bearing the smell of rain.

Merle is there at the end of the deer trail. When he catches sight of you, his face lights up like a little boy’s. He quickly disciplines it into a more manly expression. “Knew ya’d be comin’,” he says, though you can tell by the tension in his voice that he didn’t actually know. You run to him and throw your arms around him. “Cat,” he says. He knows the name your parents gave you, but that isn’t who you are anymore. You’re not who you were before, and neither is he. “Cat.”


End file.
